


Darkness Falls on All

by GorgeousEmpressDarling



Category: inFAMOUS: Second Son
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:20:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23858974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GorgeousEmpressDarling/pseuds/GorgeousEmpressDarling
Summary: A reimagining of Infamous but with ghosts thrown in. Delsin and Brooke are at odds with each other over the development in their town, but one night could change both their lives.
Relationships: Brooke Augustine/Delsin Rowe
Comments: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I like Brooke/Delsin, so wrote this for them. After vampire thing for infamous 1, I think Infamous 2 needed one ghost story.

“How are you enjoying the exhibit so far?” Her jaw clenches on impulse, teeth grind against each other for half a second before an effortless, half smile is forced to surface on her face. “The exhibition is beautiful – I am enjoying myself immensely.” Blinks, once, twice, good-she sounds convincing. The faces of the high society class sometimes blur into one shapeless mass of talking heads, feigning interest in topics such as business, sports, politics Their mouths move animatedly speaking empty words devoid of meaning. Despite her lack of interest, as the junior advisor to the soon to be reelected senator, she had no choice but to be present, smiling prettily under layers of makeup, with a coiffed hairstyle and feet squeezed into heels.

  
"I am  glad..especially after the unfortunate misunderstanding – according to news reports, you were part of a white power meeting,” A wolfish grin rears his mouth into a parody of a friendly smirk, and it immediately clicks that the smiling brunette man is not a friend of the senator Louis Lefebre. "You can't help people talking about racial connotations, especially when your group attacked some Native Americans." His barb spurs her to reply with a vengeance.

  
"Except-," corrects with a smooth and confident air, drawing her posture into a straight line, ‘ _ D _ on't  _ let them rattle you’ _ . The thought provides her with confidence.

“-Only one boy was Native American and the other two were his friends - white students. And incidentally, he has been arrested numerous times by his brother and released for acts of vandalism." She continues, with an edge of indifference and the barest hint of mocking, "Perhaps you would prefer to look into the corruption in the police force, rather than what some white kids are doing school." Her eyes held a sword-like edge of mild rebuke, piercing into his face that been darkening a dark red in embarrassment, "or are you one to judge people by the color of the skin."   
"No," he quickly replies, "But-"

  
"Then there is no reason to doubt me when I tell you that there was no KKK meeting in my friend's house," favoring him with a cool, gentle smile, she says, "Do enjoy your time here, I am sure you will love the exhibition, particularly the artifacts from the  Bribri tribe".

With a final departing smile, she moves effortlessly away to mingle with the other visitors. Internally, she is seething. Damn that stupid idiot,’ dredging up a failure she hopes she can put behind her with this exhibition on Native Americans. There was no regret, after all, they had done nothing wrong. A group of University students, her friends, decided to meet at a friend's house one afternoon. It has nothing to do with race relations or the KKK. Peter had simply suggested they get together to discuss the contributions of white civilization, seeing as there was Black History month, and a National American Indian Heritage Month. Of course, the main reason was probably due to his interest in discussing his confederate grandfather, who fought in the war.

  
A few of them went along with the idea, Sheila, Philip and Theodore had come prepared with details about white societies and what they contributed to the world, while Brooke had joined in with great interest to hear them and even commented positively on their research. She wasn't much interested in the topic, rather she preferred to admire Philip.

He wasn't handsome, with a face full of pimples and an odd smile, but being sweet and articulate was his strengths. And while his speech on the white farmers in Zimbabwe received her positive impression, it was not that causing the butterflies to flutter in her stomach. The media hadn’t bothered with the truth, throwing a hateful glare at the reporters huddled next to a giant statue of an Indian that represented some Native American tribe’s craft culture. Now, she was stuck here, doing damage control, struggling desperately to repair the blow inflicted to the Senator’s campaign by the headline ‘Advisor of State Senator found in KKK group’.

  
When she finds out who did that mess, fingers itch to wrap around someone's throat, she will string them up by their ankles and beat them repeatedly with concrete...But first, how to pin the responsible party and discover how the media could trap them with the picture ...it was definitely intentional.

  
"Brooke, is everything alright?' The Senator walks up to her, concern vivid from the arch of his brown to the frown on his features. Since the report broke out, a crease seemed permanently attached to his forehead, anxious about his  prospects . "Yes, everything is fine." Smile, it’s full of reassurance, and her countenance relaxes while her guard drops. "You seemed upset talking to Mr. Williams. Did he say something to you?” Sparing a glance at the departing gentlemen, a frown tugging at his lips.

  
"No, no Mr. Lefebre," Raising an assured smile, "He hadn’t said anything that wasn't so horribly false…I can handle it all. " The smile grows until it changes her visage to something more calm and controlled, which seemed to please Mr. Lefebre. A handsome man in his 40s, his auburn hair, a shade darker than hers was neatly combed, the color adding a pronouncement to his sharp features; particularly his cheeks and nose. Brooke had the same problem, the red hair, a family trait, tends to deepen the curves and lines of her face. When she frowns, her friends tease that she resembles a demon.

  
"Just an hour more and you can leave." He promises, showing his understanding for her. Head turns to the podium, decorated for the unveiling with shiny ribbon and a dark red curtain, he gestures with a nod, pride in his tone "You’ll be up there with me for the grand unveiling, Brookie, and it will be all worth it." The warmth of his fingers seemed to create an airy feeling in her chest and a flood of positive emotions; he is a good man, so considerate unlike some of the other senators. And what he is doing for the town would help build it up.

Recalling for a brief moment with a tug of annoyance, Gwendolyn with a permanent childish pout, sitting near the closet, ear phones plugged in, and fingers tapping away at numerous texts because she had to be dragged to some Indians show.

  
Brooke spent the next few minutes perusing the artifacts and sculptures on display, trying to understand the fascination with feather embellished headdresses and busts of men's faces, weathered by time and oily in texture, inked with war paint. There were plenty of animal motifs and a rich use of color embedded in elaborate costumes besides paintings adorned with vivid imagery and jewelry in full plumes of feathers and shiny ornaments. Yet, Brooke felt nothing inspirational from these old works that are supposedly showing the creativity and uniqueness of a forgotten group of tribe people. She didn't comprehend the fascination people showered on forgotten ancient tribes from long ago, a few  steps from a cult that boasted a vested interest in nature, animal skins and herbal magic and little else. It seemed so surreal, and odd.

Nature to her was a room surrounded by computer or books, testaments to man's ingenuity. And for all her understanding of politics and culture, it is a conundrum to her why the rich people of Seattle found the Native American tribes of remarkable interest, what was so special about them? Clinging to the past  was..unnecessary . "Excuse me, Brooke. The Senator wants to see you at the stage.” The voice of the secretary drags her from her musings, and she immediately heeds the call of the pretty dark-haired 24 year old.

  
Tearing her eyes from the Indian man drenched in furs and steering his war painted horse across a river flowing with vivid colors, she takes her place beside the Senator on the podium. Looking out at the large crowd of rich donors and socialites as well as community members of the town, she notices the varying degrees of interest in their stares. Most look respectful while others bear their appreciation and admiration plainly on their faces.

She finds she likes basking in their reverence and feeling them look to her authority. A thin smile lifts her lips, awaiting the senator’s cue. When he delivers his speech, it is articulate and expressed in his distinct smooth tone. He said, “It is my greatest pleasure to stand before you to unveil the newly acquired Native American exhibit that shows the rich history and culture of the Native Americans living here. They are an important part of the social fabric, and there needs to be better attempts to promote peace and harmony. This piece I have recently acquired was purchased for the exhibit and demonstrates my commitment to the people of this town of all nationalities and races.”

  
He emphasizes how the new Native American exhibit would help spread cultural awareness and enlightenment in their town. And judging from the positive vibes from the crowd, there are many whose view of her the senator is similar to her own – a strong, charismatic and positive role model that would renovate the quaint charm of the town into a powerhouse of business. Her mind is only half attentive to the speech; after all she had heard it for days, echoing through the walls of his study. Towards the end, fingers grasp one end of the cloth, and she dutifully takes the other end.

  
"My friends and loyal supporters, I present to you this ancient work that I discovered that I think represents the rich cultural heritage of the Native American Indians who are an integral part of our multicultural society." The curtain is swept away with a flourish and for a second, they await the respectful murmurs of approval. Their illusions are shattered as several cries of horror and shock hit them hard, even a few uncontrollable guffaws of laughter could be heard. Brooke and the Senator utter twin gasps of dismay at the empty spot where the painting is meant to stand as a proud symbol. Instead scribbled into the expensive wall is a mock caricature of the words “liar” and “whitie’ scribbled on his face in block letters. There were several shouts of indignant anger as realization dawns that the walls of a distinguished museum are marred by graffiti.

  
Her eyes regard the gleaming exaggeration of her the senator’s features to a rude and gross degree in bright colors. A frown darkens her features at the horrible writing etched on his caricature, which is obnoxious and petty – a childish attempt at an insult. Brooke feels a sudden wave of pure unadulterated fury scream through her body, her cheeks grow hot and her eyes move lividly across the room, looking for the culprit.

  
Senator Louis Lefebre attempts to calm the crowd and walk away with some dignity. Beads of sweat awash his forehead creased with worry. The fact that this was allowed to happen so close to the elections would play badly on his re-election campaign. Around him, guests had begun whispering under their breaths, making small accusations about him, eyes skewering his form with judgmental looks. Her stomach twists into a thick knot, the air is sucked out of her lungs on noticing the frustrated expression hanging on her the senator’s face, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment. All that work – ruined over one stupid prank. The anger only grew until it was a hot steaming liquid flooding her whole body. She had a feeling who was responsible for this and damn her if she wasn't going to make that bastard pay. Turning on her heel, she descends from the stage, her gait heavy with purpose. She ignores the questioning looks and shouts from the people she pushed past, not sparing them a glance, though a few voices are commiserating and friendly. Grabbing her phone from her purse, a quick call is made to her friends. She drags Gwendolyn along, ignoring the girl’s protests and slight mocking laughter falling from playful lips.

  
Her small group is soon trekking carefully through the dark greenery of the forest a few blocks from the museum. Lancelot and Theodore follow behind her, while Sheila and Philip walk together on her right. They walk a path cut through the woods often used by tourists and the residents who wanted to have late night parties, do séances or for the lower dregs of society, to poison themselves with drugs and beer. Brooke illuminates their way with the torch in her hand, and with the other, she clings to Philip’s coat that he had draped around her. Ever the gentlemen, he doesn’t want her to dirty her dress.

  
Leaves crunch under their feet and the cool forest air nips at their skin. Gwendolyn tries to keep up, breath huffing, as groans erupt from her mouth due to an unsteady balance she has to maintain on heel while keeping pace with her friend. “You sure you want to do this, Brooke?” She manages to puff out, trying to see her profile in the dark, “What if they want to start a fight?” “They're just some stupid trash that entered the University cause of affirmative action!” Brooke had no reason to be politically correct not when the bastard humiliated her. “Are you sure he did this?” Gwendolyn stepping in time to brisk pace.

  
“Yes, it was him,” she snaps, giving her a dirty sidelong glance, “who else would use such cheap paint and have such a disregard for private property - that jackass is going to pay for this.” Lancelot utters a small cry as his feet nearly catch on a branch, and he had to jerk his body to keep upright. “Why can’t we do this in the morning, it will be even better during the day to  expediate mob justice. Why do we have to go after that idiot now!” His voice a high-pitched whine with a shrill of annoyance.

  
Brooke doesn’t even bother answering, just continues with greater urgency into the direction of the abandoned warehouse. Two of her friends were softly complaining to each other instead of speaking directly to her. She blocks out all the unnecessary sound. Her mind is buzzing with thoughts of revenge.  “We'll be there soon!” She calls halfheartedly over her shoulder, and then her gaze caught the bright lights visible in the distance.

  
She marches to the steel gate, eager to give that errant delinquent a piece of her mind. Philip helped her push open the doors, it made a scraping sound as the steel pushes against the mud and stone.

“Wait here, Gwendolyn - and get ready to call the police.” Her friend’s face was overtaken by a worried frown, “Why? Do you think it will get bad in there?” She doesn’t see it, but she knows her friend’s fingers are tightening around her phone in a nervous grip. Her gaze catches a few of his graffiti on old, weathered signs, and immediately took her foot to one. Imagining it was his face, and she was stomping on his head. Her eyes glitter with resolution in the dim light from the lamps. Once she reigns in her anger, she gestured to the cottage a few feet away, “Let’s go!” She told them.

  
“What if they offer us liquor?” Theodore murmured to his friend, and there was worry heavy in his question, “I don’t want to get into trouble.” “Refuse,” Philip muttered, moving to stand beside Brooke, “You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to.” As they near the cottage, a heavy techno beat fills the space like a cloud, pushing the silence and tranquility of the forest as a distant memory.

Soon they were standing a few meters from the party being hosted by one annoying delinquent, the music blares loudly mixed with voices. There is also laughter, the foolish kind that makes her think of cackling hyenas. Somewhere within the small crowd, he is laughing it off with his friends. The red head was about to stomp to the entrance, and face the jerk. She does not have to venture far, a few of the people caught her angry, furious figure despite being under the haze of alcohol and probably drugs, and they share a laugh among themselves. But a few of the attendees, their faces flush and red from the exertion of drinking and dancing, chose to ignore him. 

A dark-haired teen lazing on the porch hollers “ Delsin ,” loudly through the open door, “The Brooke is here.”

Eyes roll, annoyance flickers on her face, as she throws him a hateful glare at the ridiculous nickname. Anyway, she doubts  Delsin actually heard given how her ears thump slightly from the loud music. Someone must have informed him,  Delsin saunters out, sweat dots his skin and his dark complexion has a touch of red. "Hey, Gin- ger !" Someone yells, and she ignores the idiot.

“Hey, Brooke.” A smirk dancing on his lips, and his eyes glitter with a childish humor. She is face-to-face with the insufferable leader with his posse trailing behind him. “Guys,” the young man drawled, his smile widening until his teeth flash, “The Senator's errand girl has decided to pay as a visit.” And that childish inflection in his tone made her teeth grit in anger.

Brooke has a hard time restraining her anger at his cavalier attitude after what he did.  Delsin still has a smug grin dancing on his lips, and it stretched his face into a comical look. As if he did anything to warrant looking so pleased with himself, she thought irately. “Hey Bookie, what brings you here?” Eyes twinkle with a hint of mischief. “I think you know what I'm here, Rowe...” Speaking in a cool, icy tone, while anger shows in her furrowed brow and deepened lines on her face. Back stiffens rather than allow herself to get into an attack position.

  
“No, I don't know why the little princess decided to come here to my party.” He shrugs his shoulder. “I am here because you stole something from me,” she snaps, steel entering her voice as her teeth grit in frustration. “I want the painting back.” Eyes burning into his features, silently trying to intimidate him with her hardening anger, but it didn’t change his playful expression.

  
“Hey Marie, tell the little princess that we don't have any painting.” He turns his gaze to a pretty Mexican girl by his side. She repeats the answer, and a smile dances on her lips, as if she is about to burst out laughing.

  
“Like I  said.. no painting here!” And he repeats the languid motion of shrugging his arms and effectively ignoring her accusation with a lazy drawl, “Maybe you  wanna go accuse someone else!” Arms fold across his chest, and he waits a breadth for her reaction. Lips condense into a stern line, eyes narrow and her voice is tight, “Don't think I believe in your pathetic innocent act. Snaps with disgust. “You stole it - a priceless painting and replaced it with horrendous graffiti art. Don't you have any shame for performing such a criminal act when the senator is honoring your people!” The edge rises in her tone, and the accusatory tone just adds another layer of anger.

  
Maybe a guilt trip would likely get him to hand over the painting without much fight. A slow smile across his lips, its smug crescent openly mocking her. “Priceless you say.” And his brows arch, and a snigger falls from his nose almost like a snort of derision. “But come on, an old painting can’t compare to real art from an actual Native American. You should be thankful I gave your little tribute a modern twist.”

  
His smirk widens at her eye roll, she spares a glance at her friends behind her who bear varying degrees of annoyance at his antics. None of them wanted to be there. He turns to meet the eyes of the short girl behind him, “What about you? Abigail. You thought it was good, right!”

  
Abigail Walker strides to stand beside him as if she was part of a bad play, her short pink hair gleams a shiny neon sheen. His girlfriend or fuck buddy, Brooke don't really know what kind of relationship the two delinquents shared, but the way she laughs along with  him , it was evident that the relationship was based on nothing meaningful. A fun youthful romp perhaps. “Did you like my work, Fetch?” Posing the question with an induced levity in his behavior.

  
“I liked it a lot,” Walker answers as per their collusion, mimicking his comical act, “Especially liked –how-um- it was very relevant to Native American art.” Looking pointedly at her causing a frisson of fear to run through Brooke’s body. There was a hidden meaning in her words. ‘If you mean criminal behavior then - yes it does reference certain aspects of native American culture.’ She wants to blurt the words out just to see his self-absorbed look falter, instead bites down on them. There is the likelihood that it would worsen the situation.

  
“I didn’t see what aspect of Native American culture it was attributed to – it looked the work of a spoiled thug with no respect for his own culture.” Was the snappish reply, while tension thickens in her neck and shoulders. That engenders a jerk of annoyance on his face, as his eyes narrow. “That is racist!” Eugene cries, hurrying to stand beside his friend.

  
“It is only racist if it’s an unproven misconception and you just proved it true.” Her lips drew upwards in a small smile, arrogance hanging on her features. Her arms relaxing to framing her hips. Agitation grew among their ranks and they did what they considered their best impression of incontinent rage as if their own ancestors were wronged. “You better stop talking shots at my culture.” His eyes sharpening, while teeth flash inside a wolf-like sneer, and his voice had the expected effect of quieting down the crowd.

  
“I am not – I am revealing my contempt for you and your ilk.” She snarls, eyes flashing. Her friends began muttering angrily among themselves, Lancelot and Gwendolyn faces are cloudy with dark fury and aggravation. “Just give the picture back, Delsin.” Her fingers tighten on the ear phones. “We're not giving the picture back,” And she looks unimpressed at him as he can manage to interject a harshness into his tone for some perceived slight, “- so you can run and tell Daddy that the Native American culture will not be cheapened by some ridiculous political stunt.” “Yeah!” Several of his friends laughed and hollered in unison. “Yeah,” Abigail stepped forward, “the tribe are not going to be treated like props – just cause your friendly Senator needs to win the re-election.”

  
“What if I go to the police,” A wave of exhaustion washes over her and she is suddenly so fed up with dealing with this lower class scum that got into Seattle University on handouts and stupid scholarships for minorities. A slow smile spread over the boy’s face, a sudden just Cheshire-like grin. He takes a step closer, and a sudden anxiety twists in her gut. “Sure, go to the police..” Flashing her a smirk that reflects his self-assurance, and adjusts his beanie tainted with pink paint. “You're welcome to go to the police anytime!” A tinge of smugness in the knowing smile he shares with his friends beside him. “The police are just going to search for the painting and during the course of the  investigation..will probably get it appraised.” He has a cocky drawl to the words, and it feels it is there to irritate her on some level, and it’s working. His smile stretches until it feels like a shining beacon advertising her failures. Her fist by her side, twitches, demanding she aim it to his face.

  
“They will get it appraised..” Preening like a fucking peacock, “- they will find that the painting is not worth the price you said it was. You’ve been lying to the town about it.” Fear drops like a hard stone in her stomach, before anger flares like a fire. “Now you're an expert on priceless works of art,” Releasing a snort of derision, and crossing her arms across her chest to hide her shaking fists. There was a razor sharpness to her smile like a sword.

“ Ya know I'm an expert on my culture and artifacts. I can tell when something is obviously fake.” “Plus,” he said, rolling his shoulders languidly, “I think I have better taste in art.”

She gives an openly mocking scoff, “I have seen your taste in women,” Tilting her head towards Abby, “I sincerely doubt the veracity of that comment just by looking at your girlfriend.” The remark is petty and a product of her simmering rage, and it has the effect of angering Abby, who lurches forward in an attack. Hands hold her back, it could be Eugene or that girl, Ruby.

Abigail face contorts into an ugly expression, eyes burning, “what  d’you say? Bitch.” Some other guy Marcus probably, keep his fingers tight on her arms. 

“I understand you are having problems at home - as most Native Americans do! There is no need to result in criminal activities..” The line is delivered as a sardonic taunt echoed in the icy sneer, eyes glittering darkly. She covers her annoyance and frustration well.

  
“Racism what a surprise!” The smile that flutters on his lips is more amused than insulted, maybe cause he feels that he is fighting for a cause, protecting his family’s legacy. They have differing views of the same event, one is the perpetrator and the other a victim- but good luck convincing either of them of their position.

  
“As if what you did was not shameful.. No, I was merely referring to common statistics.” It wasn’t a defense, her stance is still aggressive, and she doesn’t show any sign of remorse. His friends stir restlessly, glowering at her with open hostility, their faces obscured by shadows, with patches of color light up by the backdrop of light from the house and their neon glow sticks. Their open disgust and hatred shimmer coldly. Brooke could care less for them, barely sparing their feelings a cursory glance, her gaze roams over the belligerent Native American boy. The only thought in her head, beating like a sign is a way to get that painting back.

“Statistics or not, you shouldn’t talk what you know nothing about!”

“Follow your own advice!” She retorts, trying to stop her teeth from grinding in annoyance. “Where did you keep the painting- just hand it over! You have just committed a felony and even your brother can’t help you now.”

  
His eyes don’t lose their sparkle, and neither does the bright smile fade. Every threat or warning seems to bounce off this casual demeanor. ‘Did he ever take anything seriously?’ She wonders. “Chill lady, you are not in control.” He sniggers, “I don't think you want the cops involved any more than I do.”  Delsin had been planning this for some time, carefully working out the various details till he was assured that it would go off without a hitch.

Brooke suppresses the fury that stirs her blood into a near frenzy when she notes the twinkle in his eyes. He really is so brazen. “How about we talk this over? You agree to feature actual  Akomish culture –something colorful."

"And.." He continues with a self-confident air, basking in the attention he receives from the eyes fixed on him, "You convince the Senator to agree to meet with the elders to discuss the mall development project.”

There is a shrewd glint in his eyes, and a smugness fringing his words, as if the sentence is carefully constructed to be used as a weapon.

“And I will give you your painting back.” The mirth that bubbles on his features loses their boyish charm for a second, and she discovers the marks of an idiocy.

She fixes him with an ice cold glare, gritting her teeth. “The deals have already been signed. We can’t back out just because you and your tribe think the land is sacred because some of your ancestors was buried there.” It was a struggle to keep the contempt from being audible, not like these drunken buffoons could comprehend anything in their partially drunken state.

A knot of tension twists her insides, fury contorts the lines on her face till they blaze at his utter impudence. Whispers rise behind her, and she hears Lancelot distinctly snap in anger, "The audacity of this delinquent. What a low-thinking jackass!”

“Some of my ancestors died at sea, you don't see us claiming it as the Holy Land.” She resorts  snarkily , her irritation is obvious now and it causes that confident smile to drop.

Good, she had managed to wipe that smirk off his face. “Can you believe this  gurl ?” Abigail mutters to Marcus, gesturing with her thumb. The boy glowers, hate clear, and his braces sparkle in the moonlight. “Hey, your ancestors stole the land.” His accent thickening the words in his mouth.

“Oh, shut up Marcus,” Gwendolyn speaks up, pointing a manicured finger at him. “Your ancestors probably illegally cross the border.” Tossing her long blonde hair over the shoulder with a huff.

A cloud of collective anger and indignation rises from the group behind  Delsin . They are upset on his behalf. “Hey, you don't get to be a bitch,” Marcus raises his arm, standing in defense of his friends. “Come on  Delsin , let's just kick her ass.” Prodding Abigail, while Eugene slowly walks backwards to disappear behind the group. He is far too much a coward to fight as it is known throughout the University.

Many of the big-headed thugs echoed his sentiment, itching to start a brawl, their angry murmurings of threats and violence in the exchange of whispers. 

"You say you are not a criminal… but we all see the path you're leading,” She tells him sternly, holding his gaze with her fierce one, face set in a stony countenance. The urge to insult him is strong, but she reigns her feelings in.

“There is a chance for you to do the right thing by handing over the painting and not resorting to blackmail.” Sheila shoves herself between Gwendolyn and Brooke, face tight with annoyance and frustration.

“Hey, we are trying to do the right thing,”  Delsin insists, choosing to not lose his casual, lighthearted manner of speaking, despite the growing animosity between them, as they made their dislike towards each other very vocal.

“We are standing up for the  Akkomish people..standing up for what is right!” Raising his voice just a little, and his friends cheer him on, their shouts full of approval.

It took all her willpower not to roll her eyes heavenward and throw something at him preferably her shoe.

“You are not- “Lancelot snarls, fists balled by his side, animosity in every word, “You are a bunch of criminals indulging in criminal behavior cause you are the lower class of society who serve no purpose but to occupy the lower positions in fast food franchises.”

Augustine ducks, barely missing the punch aimed at her cheek from the pink haired girl. “You're going to get it now, bitch!” Abigail yells, bringing up her other fist to deliver a punch. Hands block the attack and Brooke slams a fist into her side. Bringing up her hands, her fingers clasp around her wrists keeping Abigail constrained in a stranglehold.  Delsin dashes forward to free his friend, but is stopped by Philip who gives him a hard shove. Angry shouts from both groups, with some expletives mixed in. Theodore is quick to try to shove Marcus away from Gwendolyn, whose short temper manifested in her swinging her purse. It just ignited the tempers of others. 

It descends into a full-on brawl with legs kicking, knees smashing into flesh, punches flying and nails ripping at skin. 

A few feet from her, Gwen grapples with Ruby, and surprisingly is holding her own. Brooke, who had been training with her during soccer season, was glad her tips helped, but that fleeting thought rips through her mind, as her eyes focus on another punch that Abby aimed after she broke free. Brooke retaliates by reaching around and catching Abigail in the neck and switches so she is on top. Abby’s face scrunches into pain, and annoying, then she jams her knee against her, forcing her to lose her grip, and evacuate air out of her lungs in a huff.

Suddenly one of her friends is on her, and panic bursts in her chest. There is no way she can take on two people at the same time. Marie grips her arms and bends it backwards at a painful angle, giving Abby a clear pathway to her face. Gwen is pressed into the dirt with Ruby on top of her, knees against her back, and fingers twisted in her hair. 

Lancelot and Theodore tackle with two other hoodlums, Sheila struggles to scramble away from the girl wrapped around her waist. Philip is the only one putting up a good fight, trading blows with  Delsin . They release violent grunts, as they snap insults at each other. " You are a real jackass,  Delsin !" Philip grunts, blocking a swing, and delivering a punch to his stomach.  Delsin doubles over as he gives a swift uppercut to the blonde boy's chin. "You talk smack like a bitch!." 

Suddenly, a cry of pain and shock pierces the air. "Lancelot, what's going on?" Everyone freezes and share a look of confusion. Lancelot rubs his forehead, and eyes his friends and tormentors. "What the fuck is this?"  Delsin and Philip both wince as hard and sharp objects fall sharply from the sky, and strike their bare flesh from the sky. 

Brooke raises her gaze skyward, and then squeezes her eyes shut, her cheek stinging from the force, joining the flare of pain that Abigail invoked when she gave her some hard knocks. 

"What is this?" Abigail shields her head as she jumps to her feet, "The weather didn't call for  hailstorm..We don't usually get  hailstorms..in summer!  Wha -"The Boston accent slurring her words. 

"This is crazy, what is this!" Marie shakes her dark brown hair. "We should probably get to-" Philip starts but doesn't quite finish his sentence, instead his teeth catches his lower lip. A flash of lighting burns bright through the darkness of the evening, catching their attention. 

'What is that?"

It happens suddenly, one minute they are brawling with each other, then lightning flashes and the world seems to change. A chill permeates the air, and it seeps into his skin and curdles his blood. Brooke shivers, all she's wearing is the evening dress and she's pretty sure it is stained from her trip to this dumpster. Keeping her voice steady, she fixes him with the most intense stare she can manage despite the growing knot in her belly, and made another attempt to get the painting back during the lull in the fight. " Delsin ," she says in a demanding voice, "You should.."

Their eyes shift focus to the area, where odd silvery shapes form out of the air a few feet behind them. The shapes float closer, taking human outlines that slowly discern themselves into people. 

Ruby blinks and  yells, " What- where did those people come from?" Her words slightly slurring from the busted lip. 

The scene feels wrong, something from a dream. The outwardly creatures advance towards them, their figures silvery outlines in the dark. A flash of lighting ripples through the air hits Marcus. Brooke watches in horror as the boy is flung across the air and slams into the wall. Screams and shouts of alarm from the others. "What is all of this? What is going on?" Lancelot grabs her arm, but he is suddenly pulled away from her to be swallowed by the earth. Shock tightens every muscle in her body, but a sudden wash of adrenaline drives her to run. 

Delsin blinks at the scene. His mind buzzes with a million thoughts, the main one being this must be some kind of joke. The aggressive way some of his friends are standing tells him no one knows who these people are or what they are. He catches Abigail's eyes, and they are filled with confusion. Eugene grips her arm tightly, his face growing considerably paler. 

Their silvery figures float closer, and take the misshapen figure s of humans  and would be considered as such if not for the odd transparency and the smoke like quality of their bodies.  Their faces are discernable, their edge of youthfulness at odds with the maliciousness that emanates from their core. 

They appear to slip in and out of the dark shadows. The temperature drops, a  sudden icy chill pickles their skin.  Delsin has this odd thought that maybe this is a joke or some movie effects, then a flash of movement, and Philip is suspended in the trees by swirling leaves, along with Eugene. The boy barely has time to understand the situation, then has to dodge a strange ball of mist. 

Abby keeps on the ground, and moves slowly to the junkyard, struggling to avoid the sudden assault from the strange beings. The air pickles and the ground shakes underneath his feet. "What the hell is trying to kill him?" He turns his head, looking where to go and watches in horror as a sudden tornado of mist wraps around Theodore, his eyes widen into terror. "What is going on?" He barely has time to scream, tears and sweat glittering on his face, before an odd mist wraps around his torso, and drags him into the darkness. 

A hand clutches his arm, and pulls him towards the cottage but he stops abruptly, as  Delsin trips over his feet. He turns to see one of his party guests Noah, standing absolutely still, then his head tips backwards, revealing a thick slash across his neck, blood pouring from the wound. In the pale moonlight,  Delsin catches the swirl of leaves that slashed the skin of his throat. He swallows a horrified scream, spots of crimson blood splash on his face. He jumps to his feet, avoiding the fallen bodies, he rushes through the door and slams it shut, pushing an old chair in front of it. His chest heaving, as fear tightens into thick knots in his gut. His thoughts race, he can’t process the events as they happen. 

“ Delsin ,” Abby calls from up the stairs, she barely made it to the first floor landing. He nearly jumps in fright. “Get up here!” He runs up the stairs, his heart pounding and breath wheezing out of his chest. Outside, many of the youngsters continue to scream.

He remembers the light in Theo’s eyes, the terror and horror as death wrapped its tendrils around him and sucks the life from him. “What are those things?’ Abigail hissed in a shaky voice, light eyes bright with fear.  Delsin can only shake his head as he takes a seat on the broken down bed, pulling down his red beanie. “I don’t know-I haven’t a clue!” Said shakily, clutching the cloth of his dirty jeans. A blue-haired girl bursts into tears, and sobs into her boyfriend’s arms in the corner of the room. They are frightened, confused and struggle to understand what just happened from the corner of the room. “Should we go back for them?” Sam asks, another boy from  Delsin’s college. “No way, I  ain’t going out there!” Abigail yells, fear entering her voice as her hands shake. 

The small group barely notices the shadowy figure rising outside the window, materializing out of the mist. It slowly enters the room, and takes the form of a young man.  Delsin covers his mouth and falls to the floor. The ghost floats quietly for a moment, when a sudden smirk lights his formless features, maybe basking in their terror. The group is frozen in shock, unable to react. The intruder raises a silvery hand, tendrils of mist emerges from his fingertips to wrap around Sam’s body. He is yanked to be pinned to the ceiling. “De, come on!” Fetch tries to pull him away. A tendril of mist from the figure backhands her into the wall. “Abs,” She falls down with a heavy crash, blood trickling down her nose.  Delsin can feel the evil emanating from the figure, a darkness that forces  some cold mist into  his lungs, and chokes him from the inside.

The elastic strangling his chest snaps, he struggles to breath, staring into the haunted silver eyes of the ghost. ‘ _ They were all dead either way..”  _ He thinks . Abigail  rush es forward , and  grab s  a loose piece of wood from the  depilated  bed in the middle of the room , which he will say later was a stupid way to attempt murder of a ghost. Aiming for the guy’s head,  s he takes a swing, and it passes right through him with a ripple of gray.  Delsin had an inkling there wouldn’t be anything solid to cause lasting damage, but he i s grateful that Abby made the attempt. Distracted, the ghost’s face registers anger. The stranglehold is released, and air fills his lungs, as musty as it is. He catches how the boy’s red eyes focus on Abby , d riven on pure adrenaline to protect his friend, he throws his body at the creature.  Amusement ripples across the creature’s face before a hand presses against his face, the heat evaporates from his skin, and something forces into his throat, he struggles to breathe  through a constricting throat.    


There is a tiny explosion when his skin  contacts  the tainted air, and he is assaulted by a rush of memories and emotions. The ghost sharpens in clarity, its emotions more substantial – a toxic combination of fury, disgust and a violent burning hate. The strength of it all hits him like a like a truck. Suddenly the infusion of it electrifies every vein in his body, and the ghost is pushed back with a kind of moisture on his fingertips. Then, the darkness swallows them whole, the concerned cries of Fetch calling for him from the beyond.

Augustine had better luck managing to avoid the other ghost projectors aiming at her head. She ducks, and pushes herself to the side to dodge the flash of leaves swirling in the place she was in just moments ago. A sudden wetness, and she raises her hand to find her skin stained in blood. Gasping in horror, she raises her eyes to find the body of her friend Agatha, eyes lifeless, her face torn apart by small cuts and oozing blood to stain the grass. The way she is lying on the ground, head twisted at an odd angle, cause s fear to pump into Brooke’s veins. 

She spares a thought for the poor girl, but then adrenaline rushes through her system. Pushing herself forward, she falls on her stomach behind a block of concrete. For a brief second, she is comforted by the possible safety of her hiding place. 

Then, the dirt under her shifts, and swallows her leg. Yanking with strength, she frees her leg and moves deeper to hide behind the cottage. 'They are determined to kill her,' She thinks with a sudden burst of panic. A hail of stones falls upon her, many smacking into her head, pain flaring in many parts of her body. ‘I have to fight this,” She urges herself, ‘I can’t let them kill me!’ Moving to the side and nearly tripping over her heels. She pushes herself forward despite the stumble of her legs.

Turning her head, she catches a glimpse of am angry face contorted by cruelty, hovering a few feet away from her, the body phasing through the benches in front of the cabin, through the discarded cans and streamers from the party. She sprints to duck behind the back wall, and runs until she nearly falls inside a small shed. Her tiny heels scratch the old wood. 

A scream pierces the air, and she jumps, a pail falls down from the shelf to crash on the floor, after her hand knocks against it. Freezes, half expecting the ghosts to peek inside. Her heart hammers against her chest, and panic floods her system. Leaning against the wall, the wood scrapping the silk of her expensive dress, heavy pants try to quickly force air into her lungs with the musty smell lingering in the air mixed with some acrid liquid. 

Eyes squeeze shut, while she struggles to gather some level of composure. 'I was supposed to join the military... to fight for my country,' Those disjointed thoughts cause a tumult in her head. 'I was ready...Next  month..I was prepared to enlist!!' Pressing her arms around herself in a hug, fingers digging into her skin, unable to stop shaking. Another scream is sad and pathetic, and shrill, before ending in a gurgling sound. Tension grips her body, she shifts her feet to the corner where the odd smells get harsher.

Outside, the terror is widespread, cackling in the air and it fuels her own distress. Sickening sounds of bones breaking and screams of fear send shivers down her spine. 'What is this? What is going on?' Brooke struggles to make sense of the entire situation, 'These things came from nowhere and now they...why are they killing everyone?'

She almost thought she heard something like beef cooking on a fryer, but it is ridiculous, and here, she wanted to laugh. Strange ghost things shouldn't be shifting through walls and murdering people. Odd shaped nails scrape her skin, but she barely feels anything. 'I probably have to stay  here..in this musty old shed  until.. ' A sudden twitch of movement in the dark, made her skin run cold. A  little light leech in from the cracks in the wood, and the sliver of light where the door didn't quite meet the floor. 

A strange animalistic breathing seems to scratch her ears like a vicious whisper, so jarringly nearby. Stiffening, her breath caught in her chest. ' No..No..they couldn't have found me!' She wills her muscles to move but they feel like bricks at her side. 

' Move..you have to move!' She commands herself. Pushing forward she shoves the rickety shed door open, leaving the dank darkness behind her. Immediately, she recoils in horror, the smell of burnt flesh hitting her nose. Swallowing a partial sob, nausea turning her stomach as the stench of spilt blood. She allows a second to shed a few tears as her eyes adjusted to the darkest and saw the dismembered bodies of the partygoers, some cut, and some partially buried in the ground. She doesn’t dwell too much on the dead. 

Averts her eyes to the ground, clenches her jaw, and made the decision to run to the cabin. There is nothing to be done about the dying innocents. Sprinting through a haze of tears, she fails to notice the spark of movement. The hit is sharp, carving her skin, as she is thrown into the concrete back wall. 

Bracing her chest against the wall, her nails dig into the concrete, the abrasive texture rub against the swirls of her fingers’ pads. She tries to steady her breathing, the swirl of leaves cut into her flesh and wind causing her stark red hair to flutter. A scream scratches at the back of her throat, where desperation tightens in her throat. A flash of blue, and a face materializes beside her, a twisted smile stretching pale lips. The madness in her eyes darker and vibrant. A weak scream, almost like a pathetic mewl, and her breath is stuck in her chest. The leaf edges scatter the cloth of her dress, laying her skin to the icy chill of the night air. Tears leak from the corner of her eyes, the leaf blades lightly flay her skin, and warm blood splashes the ground around her feet. Pain flares up her back, and her face is momentarily overtaken by a stunned expression before pain flashes on her face. A scream bubbles from her lips, thickened with pain. It burns, the searing pain floods her senses, and the grey matter of the concrete wall swims out of her vision. The scream in her throat sharpens until she releases it into a loud and booming wail. 


	2. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delsin and Brooke recover from the events, and get a little frisky.

The next time her eyes flicker open and the dull hospital ceiling comes into focus. She raises her head, and surveys the room, it is a hospital room. Nausea rises at the back of her throat and her stomach lurches, she gags once, but then the nurse rushes to her side, and grabs the wastepaper basket. She empties the contents of her stomach into the wastepaper bin, ignoring the protest of her muscles at the sudden movement. 

The events play at the back of her mind, it’s foggy and obscure like a shadow play with static in the background. Everything is a blur except the screams of agony and the sickening sounds as flesh is ripped from bone and the crunch of bones as bodies are slammed into hard surfaces. 

All that out is the foul-tasting lunch she had at the party and the little glistening cider. The nurse rubs her back comfortingly. A few more dry heavy heaves, she finally relaxes with a sigh, and rubs the back of her hand on her mouth. Eyes burn and body feels rubbery and broken. 

_‘What did she witness?’_ Her broken mind struggles with the sharp pictures that play like a black and white horror movie. 

“Nurse,” She whispers in a voice like dried ice, raising her eyes from the waste bin to her the nurse, who had a grave expression. Her brow furrows in concern. “What is going on? Please tell me? Do you remember your name?”. 

There is so much pain in her chest that it threatens to compress her heart. “Brooke.. Brooke,” She starts, trying to find the words to explain what happened. 

“Brook, Do you know what happened?” 

She grips her hands, face white. “It is alright, Brooke,” The nurse sighs gently, “You’re safe. Let’s get you home!” And with that Brooke leans back, struggling to stay calm, as anxiety trickles into her bloodstream, and her mind spins in chaos, sending her odd images she can’t comprehend. 

Delsin awakes, light-headed and woozy like someone had taken a bat to his head. “Delsin,” He raises his gaze to the sound of his name and finds his brother's worried eyes. “Reggie, what is going on?” 

Pain spikes strong and brutal. Simultaneously fragments of distorted memories play in his mind and he has to bite the inside of his mouth to remain grounded to reality. 

“Delsin,” Reggie wraps his arms around his brother and secures him tightly. "The police are saying there was a massacre…that you, Eugene, Abigail and Brooke are the only survivors.” 

He struggles to process the entire thing as a chain of thoughts rip through his head. ‘Only survivors..massacre..’ 

He presses his fingers into his brother’s shoulders and buries himself into the warmth. Struggling to shut down the high-pitched wailing in his head that sounded suspiciously like tearful pleas. “What exactly do you remember?” Reggie extracts himself from the hug and gazes at him with concern, finding moistness gathering in his brother’s eyes. 

“We were having a party at this old abandoned cottage,” He forced through dried lips, trying to clear the fog of confusion. 

“Was drugs and alcohol there?” Reggie asks, keeping a comforting hand on his shoulder. Delsin swallows, squirming under the intense scrutiny and finds anger rise inside him. 

“You think we all took some beer and cocaine- then slaughtered each other..what the hell man!” Snaps with growing irritation. 

He is starting to feel more clear-headed though his emotions begin to whirl tumultuously inside him. At least he is more in control and wasn't freaking out as much. Reggie’s overbearing authority presence provided him with some solace. 

“What happened? Delsin,” Unable to keep the annoyance from seeping into his words, rubbing his forehead irately, “because I'm trying to understand… 17 kids are dead. You are one of those survivors..” His voice rising, and his hand gestures are animated, “You need to tell me what happened. Lives are at stake here!” He stresses, fingers tightening on Delsin's shoulders, “We have to catch the murderer!” 

Delsin lowers his eyes, and takes his brother's hand in his own, fingers trembling slightly. His skin crawls from under his brother’s probing stare, feeling the anger and tension twisting his stomach while an uncomfortable itchiness crawls up his throat. 

“Reggie,” he has to force the words out and they taste sour on his tongue. “I am not trying to hide anything. I don't remember… it's all fuzzy.” 

On seeing the naked sadness and pain on his Reggie’s face, he loosens his posture, letting his shoulders slump. “I am sorry for putting you through this. I am under a lot of pressure,” Releasing a frustrated groan, before pressing a hand against Delsin’s cheek, “You have been through a terrible ordeal.” Giving his arm another comforting squeeze, “And I will help you get through this!” 

  
A thought flashes in his mind, a horrible thought, Delsin is hit by an awful flashback of the silvery transparent beings grabbing his arms to stop him from fighting back. ‘What were those things?’ Another image bleeds into his mind. A huge fire consumes the cottage, eating at the wood. A flash of people in red cloaks bowing in front of a man with a weirdly shaped hat and his hands reaching out over the crowd, tainted with blood. 

  
The figures bow down and a collective chant rose from the group. Then, two people rose and walked forward. Their faces are hidden and obscured by shadow. Throwing off their cloaks, their skin glistens in the light of the candles. Their naked bodies are that of a man and woman. They step into a circular tub that contains an odd silvery substance, which is surrounded by a crimson satanic circle. The woman got on her knees like a dog and the man enters her from behind. She tosses back her head and starts groaning and grunting as the man slams into her. His head bears an expression of pleasure, as he grunts and groans. 

  
Their movements splash the silver liquid all around them. The minute the silver touches their skin it turns black, tainting their fair skin like a bruise as their fucking becomes more animalistic. 

  
Delsin grabs his forehead struggling to make sense of his thoughts that seem like a bad porno movie. They pierced his brain like a hundred stalagmites into his skull. The doctor returns an hour later to take his vitals and perform a few tests on him. During that time, he is subjected to his brother’s incessant worry. Two policemen knock on the door, requesting to speak with Delsin about what had happened. 

  
“Who murdered those teens?” Delsin recognized Detective Christian and Officer Mallory from the precinct. Christian scratches his blond hair, and eyes Delsin with a scrutinizing stare, clearly mindful they are talking to the Sheriff’s brother, but dark suspicion colored their gazes. 

“I..I-“ He struggles to find the words, he certainly can’t tell them they were attacked by what looked like ghosts. ‘No,’ he couldn't explain. “I don’t know why – what happened…” He stumbles over the words, looking at anything but them. 

  
Detective Christian narrows his eyes, and Delsin takes a deep breath before turning to the widow, watching the dark clouds gather obscure the morning sun. It would be a cloudy day. 

  
“Did you see the murderer?” Delsin shakes his head, and he winces when the throbbing pain returns, and his fingers tingle, remembering what had happened. Officer Mallory writes into her note pad, but a frown flickers on Detective Christian’s mouth. 

  
“Is there anything you can tell us?” His voice is calm, green eyes burning into his. Delsin felt his stomach turn, and he purses his lips, “I-I can’t- I barely remember anything.” No way is he revealing details about his fight with ghosts, especially ones with powers that hurt his friends, and snuffed off their lives.   
He almost knew the next question “How did you manage to survive? When no one else did?” He is tempted to answer that it was because of some weird neon light. 

  
“How did you manage to escape?” Christian asks, brow furrowed. Delsin’s fingers grip the bed spread, as discomfort washes over him, followed by a sudden exhaustion that permeates every part of his muscles. He turns pleadingly to his brother, silently beseeching him to send them away. He had no answers to give them. Reggie stood up and requests the policemen to leave, “Delsin is tired now. He will talk to you guys later.” He pats them on the back in a friendly manner. They look over Delsin’s state, their expression unreadable, before Christian quietly nods in agreement. The young man looks far too distressed to be able to share any details. Reggie spends more time with Delsin, avoiding the sinister topic, but Delsin barely noticed his presence, his mind in turmoil, regurgitating a cacophony of memories that barely make sense. 

  
Later in the evening, when everyone finally gave him some peace he is left alone with violent troubling thoughts. Every nerve ending is tingling under his skin and hyper sensitive. Shadows surrounding his hospital room seem to be waiting to come alive to destroy him. The scratch of leaves and the movement of trees in the wind fills him with fear. Someone is out there, waiting willing to kill him. Those things whatever they are, he refuses to call them ghosts. They couldn’t possibly just be humans with special powers. It is all absurd. He inhales deeply, but it didn’t steady his rapid heartbeat. His throat itches, and he decides he needs to get something to drink. The water bottle is nearby, but Delsin has a craving for soda to quench his thirst. The doctor had removed the IV drip and the heart monitor. Whatever, he ignores the scream of protest from his muscles and walks out the door. 

  
The hospital is quiet, the hallways empty and thick with silence. He is half tempted to talk to himself so he could fill the emptiness that is riddled with the echoing scream of his classmates and it increases in intensity in his head. 

  
They didn't deserve to die like that. He hadn't seen any pictures and Reggie even hid the remote to protect him from the stories televised on the news channels. But Delsin recalls, however weakly, he saw the blood that was spilled and the bodies scattered across the grass. Little drops marked the walls of the decrepit old house after the poor youngsters were hurt. The frightened cries, and the odd flashes of leaves, and lightening zipping through the air. 

  
He walks slowly, sluggish on his feet, and his thoughts are encased in an enforced bubble that attempts to keep the thoughts from breaking him. His feet got him down two hallways and through the doors before he reached a dead end and had to turn back. He lingers in corners to avoid the night shift nurses passing him by on their way to fulfill their duties. He doesn’t want to field their questions or suffer their pointed stares. He turns left and feels a spike of triumph when he caught sight of the soda machine and in front of it; a red haired girl is bent over. She picks up the can, opens it and takes a long sip. Delsin can’t remove his eyes from her, enduring an odd sense of anxiety over seeing the other survivor.   
‘How did it happen and why her?’ 

He carefully walks over to talk to her and maybe ask her a few questions. ‘Like how did she survive along with Abby and Eugene? And did she meet them?’ Their eyes meet, and her lips frown around the can. A shy and shaky smile surfaces as he approaches her. There is a twisted knot in his gut that made him uneasy about the answers. “Hey Augustine, how you're feeling? ” He ventures slowly. 

  
She regards him with a guarded and wary expression. “Delsin,” She greets him softly, “You're alive.. good for you!” Though her eyes are glazed over and she seems to stare at some hidden shadowy figure. “You don't sound happy…upset that Casper didn't take me away to Never Never Land,” He jokes, trying to make light of the situation to dispel the heavy tension, but her stance did not change, she still stood rigidly before him, eyeing him with a small level of distrust. It is odd to find Delsin here, and Brooke didn’t know how to react towards him. They were only just fighting when the attack happened. He looks worn out and tired, dark smudges under his eyes, and his usual carefree demeanor is replaced by a hunched and weary posture. 

  
He couldn’t understand even after what they've been through why she still had some level of suspicion between them just because they were once on opposite sides. “You mixed two different types of stories,” she pointed out dryly and her face sort of pinched in annoyance and maybe a touch of weariness. “Yeah, suppose I did,” He gives a stilted laugh, brushing his fingers through his dark hair. His chest compresses like something is squeezing his heart and the blood pounds in his ears. “Casper was a Friendly Ghost…If he does exist; I think it would be nice to meet him”   
The way he moves his mouth in the space, it is like he is trying to push out the words. A momentarily awkward silence followed while Brooke drinks her juice. 

  
“Did you speak to the cops?” He finally asks after chewing on the inside of his mouth for a second, mulling over his thoughts. She seems alright, despite what transpired, her head is held high. The guarded expression increases in intensity, as lips purse in a thoughtful contemplation. Finally, those blue eyes sharpen and she tells him, “As a special friend of the Senator, I got some reprieve until tomorrow.” 

  
“What are they doing? So there are different laws for the rich and the disfranchised?” Eyebrows raise in annoyance, and he shrugs, “Good to know!” “So you spoke to the cops…told them everything, did you?” She shoots back, there are threads of anger in her tone. “No, I barely remember,” He lies, rubbing his head, wincing as he touched a sore spot. 

  
When it looked like she is about to ask him for more information he volunteers it directly. “We were at the party at the abandoned mulberry cabin…things went blank from there…” He shrugs his shoulders in helplessness. “And the police didn't question you further?” She asks dryly, “Ask you why you invited murderers to the party!”   
“No, that really didn't come up!” He responds stiffly, squirming under her intense gaze, “And none of the party guests were murderers!”   
“How do you know?” She questions, tightening her grip on the can, hoping there is maybe a human explanation to what happened.   
“None of the partygoers were responsible for what happened!” He insists, eyes boring into hers, “No one came to the party with…murderous intentions. Just to get drunk and party, I should know, I saw them share the beers, condoms and glow sticks!”   
Forcing his body to move forward, and she stands up straighter, taller than him by mere inches. He stares emphatically into her, he wants to reach forward to touch her, but she wouldn’t welcome the gesture of friendship. This is his way of dealing with the situation with a dry hint of humor, but it is beginning to get on her nerves as frayed and stressed as they are.   
“Were there drugs at the party?” She questioned, arching a brow. She is referring to a well-known druggie, but Delsin’s mind is still too foggy to make the connection. “No- No..No drugs,” He mutters.   
“Abigail was at the party -“   
“She had nothing to do with it!” He cut her off, anger rising inside him at the mere thought. “Fetch was not to blame for what happened,” Lowering his voice, he hisses into her face, “She couldn't be the reason for the deaths.” “Abigail used to deal drugs...” Brooks pointed out, expression hard and unforgiving. She hated that feeling..that sick feeling of being helpless and reduced to nothing more than prey, and seeing Delsin stand before her...after he lured her to the party. Her fists tighten in anger by her side. 

Shaking his head, “People were having a good time, getting their groove on. I don't think anyone is going to be murderous while Lady Gaga is playing!” 

  
“What about the fight?” She snaps shortly, “She didn’t look so gentle when she attacked me.” “That was hardly a fight…more like a weak slap fest,” Delsin mutters, glancing at the soda machine. He suddenly remembers that he came all this way for a drink, and leans pass her to push a coin into the soda machine. He selects the number, and with a press, his cola tumbles down to the tray.   
Brooke watches him before commenting, “I recall Abigail's face when her fist connected with my face. Definitely had the look of a druggie!”   
He gives her an angry look, “What do you remember of that night?”   
“It's foggy, and most of it is a blur…there was the fight…and the rest is…” She averts her gaze to study the sodas behind the glass, wincing as pain and fear courses through her at the memory. 

Suddenly, Delsin gets these flashes of images in his head, those people wearing odd red cloaks and talking in tongues. And his breath catches in his chest. ‘Why now?’   


Confusion colors her face, and the look she gives him is quizzical. “What are you talking about ? Did you get a CaT scan? I think maybe you have suffered some brain damage, “Augustine quips flippantly. Her mind still tries to process the events of the late evening yesterday. ‘They seem so real… So many deaths… but what happened? What were those things. I have no idea what happened.’ She rubs the bridge of her nose with the forefinger and thumb. 

“Listen Delsin, I guess you're trying to help your brother,” She said slowly, weariness stretching her voice thin, “Good for you for trying to do something in your slacker life, but interrogating me to help his investigation won't help.” Attempting to block further questions with a curt and dismissive reply . 

The events of the evening weigh heavily on her mind, like a pressure in her lungs. She doesn’t want to spend time on Delsin’s bullshit and his weak attempts at being an investigator. “ Yeah, well what do you me to do ? They are going to keep asking us about…what happened and we need to have some answers!!” His voice catches on the slight desperation he was feeling. 

Brooke releases a weary sigh. “There is nothing to tell them.” She says forcefully, suddenly fearful of her own life, “The whole thing is too hard to explain. The best thing for us to do is to talk with a lawyer or a doctor first.” “Most likely we are still going through the emotional trauma and the pain, so we have some form of PStd,” She sighs, “It will take time, but eventually, we will figure out what happened!” 

A flash, another distorted vision assaults his mind. A woman, bright chestnut red hair flowing freely- moans loudly as a dark haired man fucks her, her throat is gripped in his blood-soaked hand. Their faces obscured by strange deformed masks so he didn't recognize them. Dark blue bruises and twisted scars cross their pale bodies as they move in a rutting motion. 

Though the woman seems to bear the worst of it, with blood openly pouring from open wounds. 

He blinks, the memory doesn't fade, instead reality turns and shifts, and Brooke suddenly isn't even in front of him. He doesn't even have an idea of the origins of the old memory, but it takes him away. 

Brooke watches his eyes glaze over, and looks confused. "What is wrong with you? Delsin" 

‘The hell,’ Delsin screams in his mind, as the world shifts to narrow his vision until the pupils of his eyes appear like pin pricks. Brooke backs away slowly, fear combined with the medication making her feel heady. 

Her heart stops, as blood trickles from Delsin’s nose. “You have a bloody nose!” She said stiffly. His face seemed to contort; first confusion followed by anger. Brooke couldn’t know, but the next scene that assails his mind is Augustine raising blocks of concrete at the blonde haired girl. The one who was manipulating glass, raising broken glass pieces in the air and slashing at his party goers. 

A sudden vicious anger descends over him and it catches him by surprise, he isn't prepared to fight it off. He jerks his hand forward and wraps fingers around her neck, cutting off her air supply 

Augustine attempts to free herself from his vicious grip and kicks out sharply with her feet. But Delsin is relentless, something inside him feeds him an odd mix of lust and rage. Similar to when he was attacked by that strange ghost. 

The image of the couple returns, their lips biting and hungrily taking from each other, exchanging saliva and trading scratches on each other's flesh. 

Delsin had to share it with Augustine. He brings her head forward into a hot, searing kiss. She gasps in shock, disbelief coloring her gaze at the sudden neediness. It weakens her knees and raises goosebumps on her flesh. Her mind protests, 'No, I don't want this...' But something is draining her strength, and her thoughts sputter in blind panic. Her vision is drawn to another world, in a room where two people are copulating viciously on a pentagram drawn onto the floor. Their bodies writhing in pleasure, as red darkness spreads across their flesh. Onlookers in strange burgundy robes surround them, the figures hidden but their strong gazes rake over the couple. 

Delsin drags Brooke into a nearby empty room, his hands exploring her body while his tongue savors the tart taste of her mouth. She whimpers into his mouth, overwhelmed by the sudden flush of emotions, some she is sure are not even hers. Desire thrums through her, circulating in her blood, and it is because of how Delsin is handling her body. His touch is igniting something she can't quite understand, but the questions are soon drowned by the unbidden pleasure. 

Gripping her hair, he pulls her head back and attacks her neck, planting kisses along the pure white column of her throat. A keening sound erupts from her lips, and she moans in pleasure. Delsin drags her into a nearby empty room, one arm firmly around her waist, and the other running up her back. Brooke feels all her senses being swept away by Delsin’s touch that has the kind of roughness that she hadn’t known she liked. Now secure, Delsin’s finger run up her thigh, and breach the thin fabric of her panties. Brooke’s gasps, as she feels his fingers penetrate her, and he flexes his hand, rubbing her insides in a manner that would drive her crazy. Delsin is coaxing her lust, demanding and taking from her. He doesn’t fathom what he is doing, just lost in the steady beat of desire. In his head, he is taking her as he recalls from memory, bloody and wicked....to appease a God. Brooke eyes squeeze shut, and in her mind, the surroundings are red and black, and two people are fucking under prying eyes. Brooke feels a swirling disgust at the memory, but it is drowned by the burning passion that ebbs and flows whenever Delsin touches her just right while he is roughly fondling her body. 

She spreads her legs a little wider to accommodate him, and he expresses his appreciation by squeezing her breast. Delsin thumbs at her clit, slowly working her fingers in and out of her. Another moan, Brooke feels like the girl in her dream, legs spread, blood covering her silken skin, and the man caressing her body in an almost worshipping-like intensity. 

Then, their mouths, dripping in black ooze, utter the words “Qui affecto protego, mixtisque iubas serpentibus et posteris meis stirpiqu. Delsin and Brooke are deep in a bruising kiss, their teeth nipping at flesh, until the skin breaks, flooding their mouths with the tart taste of blood. Immediately, they freeze, and stare into each other’s eyes. Stunned by the sudden revelation. Brooke is inches from an orgasm, and Delsin’s erection throbs steadily against her thigh...but its gone now, like a cold water is splashed on both of them. Only a few minutes ago, the only sound was the low lewd, wet _squelching_ of Brooke’s dripping cunt suckling onto Delsin’s digits. 

‘Was that the crack of thunder!’ Delsin wonders, frozen in fear, his fingers still enveloped by her moist cunt, as slick drips down her thigh. 

Brooke turns around, staring out the hospital window. He disentangles his hand from her hair, and removes his fingers, which she flashes him a look of anger, before moving to the window. Delsin follows behind her, stuffing his erection into his undies. His thoughts slowly bursting through the fog of tumultuous emotions that hit from nowhere. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he tastes her for a second, and winces as the bite of blood is on his tongue. ‘What the fuck ?’ And then, he hears her gasp of horror. Walking over to the window, struggling to fix his hospital gown properly, he stands behind Brooke, easily seeing the look of fear on her face. Following her line of sight, he can see what had her afraid. 

There, standing at the edge of the hospital’s front garden are four ghostly figures, shimmering in the pale moonlight. Malicious intent radiates off them in waves, and their vicious smiles glow with morbid delight. A scratch, scratch sound breaks them from their trance, Delsin and Brooke realize that glass pieces are swirling outside, scrapping against the outer window. Both jump backwards in blind panic, terror rushing through their bodies. Brooke reacts first after only a moment’s hesitation, she reaches forward, places her fingertips at the edge of the window, and compels the concrete to move forward. Delsin eyes bulge out of his sockets, as he stares at formerly dry concrete mold itself as if it was wet into a sheet to cover the window. Once the outside is obscured, he turns to her with confusion, anxiousness and a hint of fear. “Why the fuck do you have the same powers as those ghastly ghosts? Are you fucking one of them?” He shouts at her in an accusatory tone. “What?” Brooke glares at him, face as red as her hair, “What are you talking about?” In a voice like nitric acid. Completely forgetting she had a breast out, that is a dark red from Delsin’s teeth. 

“You did the ritual, didn’t you!” Rushing forward and digging his fingers into her shoulders, “You sacrificed your blood to get some Satanic powers!” Confusion colors her gaze, “Delsin, what are you talking about?” Snaps gruffly, inches from hitting him. But there is no answer, Delsin struggles to warn her, just as a large crash is heard from outside the window. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the story, and it was sexy.


End file.
